


Help Wanted

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Craig's List, Explicit Sexual Content, Hotel, Insomnia, M/M, Riding Crop, Sherlock Helps, Sherlock's Intrigued, Stranger - Freeform, anonymous, blindfold, secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's insomnia is driving him to distraction. Rather than ask Sherlock for help, he revisits an old remedy. When Sherlock discovers what he's doing, he finds himself in an unusual position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Seeks Help

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

_Hello. I am emailing you about the ad you placed online, looking for clients. I am interested in meeting with you. Please let me know soon._

John stared at the message. It seemed so incredibly silly to him. Was that all he had to say? Was he supposed to treat this like a normal business arrangement? He went back to the window with the Craig's List ad, looking to see if there was any other information he'd overlooked. He couldn't find anything. He focused on the crop in the photo, biting his lip as he went back to his message. He had been having trouble sleeping for almost a week now. He had tried taking medicine but that only left him trapped in nightmares, making it hard to wake up. He had tried staying up too long to exhaust himself to sleep, but there was always so much going on with cases. He'd even tried masturbating but he could never get his head in the right place, making the build up to his orgasms too long and not intense enough to make him sleepy. He knew this was an extreme solution, but it had helped him in the past and he was desperate. 

Meeting with a dom would definitely tire him out, not just from the orgasm but from whatever other activities they got up to. Someone else could take over, allowing him to give up his control and finally stop his wandering mind. He could focus, settle down, and finally sleep. That was the plan, at least. He took a deep breath and sent the message as it was.

Sherlock was at the library, finishing some research. He was just about to pack up his stuff when an email arrived. He looked it over but wasn't quite sure what it meant. Perhaps it was a potential case, though he'd taken great pains to make sure his website did not seem like an ad. Although John had told him it would be good for business, Sherlock wanted that website to be informative, not persuasive. He thought about just ignoring it -- there was no name and the email address seemed deliberately random, but, with his research done, he did need a new project.

_I might be able to help. Could you tell me where you saw the ad?_

John was pleased when he got such a quick response. He paused for a moment, swallowing the small spike of nerves before writing back. 

_I was talking about the one with the crop on it? I saw it online._

Sherlock stared at the message. What was this person talking about? Crop? Was this some farm-related thing? He started to type.

_I think you may have made a mistake_

And then all of a sudden, Sherlock remembered. Craig's List. A few months before John's arrival, Sherlock had a case that involved fraud at a local BDSM club and he had posted an ad to try to draw in the perps. He opened a new window and found the ad, which he quickly deleted. He looked back at the email. Could this still be related to that case or was it something else? He wondered if he should just leave it or possibly wait until he got home to ask for John's opinion. But Sherlock wasn't sure how John would feel about all that. He deleted the line and instead wrote something new.

_What can I help you with?_

John shifted forward in his seat and hit reply.

_I need your services. I'm having trouble sleeping, I was thinking sessions at night, if you could?_

Sherlock was slightly intrigued. At university, he had had some sexual experiences but since then, he'd only focused on work and that had been enough. However, once John moved in and was continually going out on dates, Sherlock had on occasion thought about the lack of intimacy in his life. Not enough to do anything about it, of course -- his attitude about its importance hadn't really changed -- but sometimes when John was out on dates, Sherlock stayed at home and wondered if he'd ever do any of those things again.

Not that he was going to meet this person and have sex with them. That'd be ridiculous. But perhaps a little chat about it couldn't hurt anything.

_I see. And what is it you'd like from me? Feel free to be specific. I'd rather know in advance if I can help you. No need to waste either of our time._

John licked his lips. Okay. This was going well. 

_I like being tied up, ordered around, that sort of thing. I just want to give up control for a bit, stop thinking so much._

Sherlock shifted a bit in his chair and then glanced around quickly.

_And the crop is of interest to you?_

John swallowed back another burst of heat.

_Yes. That's what's been used on me in the past._

_Luckily your requests are my specialties. Of course, I'll need to see proof that you are drug/disease free. Also, if you are a woman, you will need to look elsewhere. Once you have proof in hand, if you are still in need, feel free to contact me again._

Sherlock closed up his laptop and slid it into his bag. He got a taxi and stared out the window as it drove through the city. That had been mildly interesting. However, by the time he got home, he'd forgotten all about it.

John put his phone down. That wasn't an unreasonable request. He could find his records and get this going as soon as he got home.

Unfortunately, the rest of the day was busier than he had expected. When John got home he set aside looking for his records, too tired for it tonight. Perhaps his exhaustion would be enough to let him sleep tonight. "Is there dinner in?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa. He opened his eyes. "No idea," he said. "If you're putting the kettle on, I'll take a cup please."

John sighed loudly and went into the kitchen, looking around for leftovers as he started the kettle.

Sherlock sat up and stretched a bit and got up and followed John to the kitchen. "Work okay?" he asked, fiddling with some papers on the desk.

"No. Well, yeah, just busy. I'm really exhausted."

Sherlock got up and poured the tea for both of them. "I was busy as well," he said. "Got that research sorted. I might have a bath and an early night myself."

"That's good," John said, digging into the leftover Chinese. He wasn't really feeling it so he put it away not long after starting it, having his tea instead.

Sherlock moved to his chair and took a sip of his tea. He glanced over at John. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. "I'm not trying to hassle you, but I've rarely seen you turn away food. Did you have a late lunch or something?" He took another drink. 

"No, I'm just tired," John said. "It was a long day." He hoped he would be able to sleep when he went to bed. 

"All right then," Sherlock said. He finished his tea and got up to draw the bath. He went into his room and got his pajamas and dressing gown. "I'm taking a bath," he called as he went. He settled into the hot water and thought about his research and hoped that tomorrow he'd get a new case.

John had hummed to let him know he heard, putting his mug down and settling back into his chair. He thought about his email exchange earlier and smiled softly. His mind drifted to the times he had tried this before and how effective it had been then. He knew Sherlock was always reminding him he could ask for help, but the thought of Sherlock doing something like this for him made him laugh softly. He would be good at it -- he's so technical and precise about everything. But no, that would never happen. Finding someone anonymous would be better.  

When the water began to cool, Sherlock got out, dried off and put his pajamas on. He went out to check on John, who was watching some stupid show on the television, and then went into his bedroom to read for a bit.

When John heard Sherlock go to bed, he shut everything off and headed up himself, stripping down and crawling right into bed. He closed his eyes and waited to drift off to sleep. And waited. He tossed and turned, drifting for a few minutes only to have a nightmare. He got out of bed and wrapped up in his dressing gown, padding down to the kitchen. Maybe some warm milk would help. 

Sherlock read for a while and then found he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He turned off the lamp and rolled onto his side, drifting off. And then he heard a noise in the kitchen. He checked the clock -- despite feeling like he'd just fallen asleep, it had been a couple hours. It was two am. He sat up and listened. It sounded like John was moving around in the kitchen. Why? He put his dressing gown on and stepped out. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice seeming loud in the dark flat.

John jumped lightly before turning around. "Nothing. I can't sleep."

"I thought you said you were exhausted," Sherlock said. "Did you drink too much coffee or something?"

John shook his head. "I didn't even finish the tea," he said. 

"Well, maybe you just had an off day," Sherlock said, sitting down at the table. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

John shook his head. "No, I'm off. Hopefully I'll be able to sleep in for a bit."

"Well, if I'm up before you, I'll be quiet," Sherlock said. He yawned a little. "Want me to stay up with you for a while?"

"You don't have to do that. After this I am going to go up and try again," John said. 

"All right," Sherlock said, standing up. "If you need anything, though, you know you can always ask me, right?" He moved towards his room. "Night, John," he added before going in and getting back into bed.

John looked over at him and nodded. "I know," he said. "Good night, Sherlock." He leaned on the counter and drank half of the milk before heading back up to bed to give it another go. The milk didn't really help, but he was more settled and comfortable. Eventually he fell asleep, his mind stuck in nightmares again that woke him too early. He stayed in bed for a bit, drifted off, and slept well into the morning. 


	2. The Arrangement

Sherlock did as he'd promised and was quiet when he woke up and made himself a cup of tea. He checked his email and found something from his brother who had a question about the research project Sherlock had just finished. That was so typically Mycroft -- adding some information late that would have been crucial at the beginning. He jotted down some notes and, since he hadn't heard anything from upstairs, thought he'd nip out to find the answer his brother needed while John slept late.

When John finally did wake up, he stretched and yawned loudly, lying there for a moment, wishing he felt more refreshed. He thought about his email query and remembered he needed to find his medical records. He got up and put his pajamas on before heading downstairs. Sherlock was gone, and he was grateful -- he didn't want Sherlock asking why John needed them. He made some tea and a quick breakfast before he started looking through the papers all over the flat. 

Once Sherlock had picked up the information, he headed home. He'd turned off his phone in the library so he pulled it out but there was no message from John. He popped into a cafe to get a tea and thought about texting John to see if he wanted anything, but he didn't want to wake him. He picked up a couple pastries that looked like things he thought he'd seen John eat before and left.

As he walked, he thought about John being up in the middle of the night. He hoped John wasn't having nightmares again. When John had first moved in, it was clear there was something going on -- sometimes Sherlock would be up in the middle of the night and hear noises from John's bedroom and then John would come downstairs, looking unsettled but claiming to just need a drink. They never really talked explicitly about what was happening, but neither one of them was an idiot, so Sherlock would often just sit with John until he seemed more settled. He wondered if he should just come out and ask if it was nightmares again. He'd be happy to help John with them if he could.

He climbed the stairs to the flat and let himself in. John's bedroom door was open, but Sherlock didn't see him anywhere. "John?" he called. "I'm back and I brought you breakfast, sort of."

"Oh, thanks," John said, fixing the papers he had just finished looking through. He had found his records and shoved them onto his chair.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Sherlock said moving to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Good enough," John said. "What's for breakfast?"

"Some pastry type business," Sherlock said. He carried his mug over to his chair. "You go on -- I had a full English before I came in," he added, smiling.

"Somehow I think you're lying, but I'm not giving you any of my pastries," he grinned. He moved the papers to the little table by his chair before sitting down.

"What are those? Have you been working?" Sherlock asked. "That's annoying -- I was trying to be kind by staying out so you could sleep."

"I wasn't working, calm down. I just looked for them a bit before you got in. What were you doing, then?"

"What are they?"

"My medical records," John said.

Sherlock sat forward in his chair. "Are you ill, John?" he asked. Suddenly John's exhaustion and lack of appetite yesterday and his inability to sleep took on new meanings -- had he seen a doctor who told him he had a terrible disease? "Is that why you're off work? Tell me, John."

"Sherlock, relax. I just needed them so they can update my file at work. I'm fine," John said.

"Are you telling the truth, John? I don't want to nag you -- I know how much you hate nagging -- but I know you now. You work, you eat, you sleep. And now you're not doing those things. If you're telling the truth, I'll believe and won't worry," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, I had the day off already. I just had some trouble sleeping, but that's all. I'm fine," John insisted.

Sherlock looked over his face for a moment. "All right," he said. "At least eat the pastries . . . I got them for you." He took a sip of tea.

"I am," John promised, showing him the bag.

"Okay then," Sherlock said and tried to have a normal face or at least a neutral one. He felt like he'd revealed something he hadn't meant to -- concern -- and while he had felt it and it wasn't wrong, expressing his feelings was still something he wasn't quite comfortable doing. He went to the kitchen to top up his tea and then sat down at his desk. "I think I'll work a bit more on this thing for Mycroft," he said.

"That's fine. I'm going to have breakfast and then go out for a bit -- just a quick errand -- not a secret trip to a hospital," John smiled.

"Very funny," Sherlock said. He got to work. When John left, he didn't ask for specifics of where he was going -- he felt an urge to, but wasn't quite sure where this nosiness was coming from. Was he worried or did he just like knowing all the facts about John's life? Regardless, John had assured Sherlock he was fine and he'd promised to believe him, so he wouldn't harass him anymore.

John went to the library to scan his records onto a flash drive. He didn't want Sherlock asking why he was scanning them when he'd said work needed them. He realised that keeping this all a secret from Sherlock would be the hardest part. Sherlock had known immediately that time he stormed off to Sarah's and slept on the lilo. What was he going to think now? Would he know what was going on, or would he just know it was _something_? Maybe John could lie and say he joined a gym . . . that might work.

When everything was scanned, he left and headed back home, mentally composing the email he was going to send later that day. He wanted to get this started so he could get some proper sleep. He picked up a couple sandwiches before heading up to the flat again, calling out that he brought lunch if Sherlock wanted. 

Sherlock had finished his project and was now reading in his bedroom. He came out to John's shouting and took a sandwich from the bag, setting it on a plate. He put the kettle on. "I've finished my work," he said. "I'm bored now."

"Sorry," John said, opening his own sandwich.

"What are your plans for the rest of your day off?" Sherlock said, pouring two mugs and then sitting down at the table. He opened up his sandwich and took everything out, picking at a piece of cheese.

"I'm not sure," John said. "I have to reply to some emails."

"That's not going to take all night, is it?" Sherlock said. "Do you have a date or something? You can do whatever you want . . . I was just wondering if I should make plans or what."

"I don't have a date. I might have plans, though." John shifted and pulled his computer into his lap. "I might join a gym -- maybe not tonight, I mean -- I'm just saying, I might."

"You're fine how you are, John," Sherlock said. "Don't change yourself for romantic partners you have yet to meet."

"That's not why I'm doing it, Sherlock."

"It's not for health reasons, though, right? You said you were fine so I shouldn't hassle you. Should I hassle you? About that, I mean?" Sherlock asked. 

"No, Sherlock. It's just for me. I want to," John said. "I'm fine."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'll still hassle you about other things . . ." he added. He took his plate to the sink. He moved to his desk and picked up his laptop. "Thanks for lunch. I guess I'll find something to do then. I'll be in my room if you need me."

"Okay," John said. When Sherlock was out of the room, he took out the flash drive and plugged it into the computer. Before he attached the files, he marked out his real name and other important information. Then he added them to a new email.

_I'd be happy to show you the proper file and my ID when we meet, so that you know these aren't fake records, but I can't be too careful setting this up online. I give you my word that they are mine, but I know you can't be too careful either. I am still interested in meeting, preferably in the evenings if you can. I know it's short notice, but I would be willing to start tonight._

John read it over before sending the message, opening a new window to play around on the blog while he waited for a reply.

Sherlock's computer made a sound so he pulled it up onto the bed with him to read the new email. Hmm. . . he'd forgotten all about this business. But it appeared this guy hadn't. Sherlock felt a bit funny about it and then realised what he was feeling must be guilt, which was a bit unusual and possibly stupid. But still. Besides, he basically had nothing else to do for the rest of the evening because of John's stupid 'answer emails or go to the gym' plan. Perhaps this could keep his interest for a bit.

_Are you in London?_

John's stomach swooped a bit when he read the message.

_I am, yes._

Sherlock frowned. He was hoping that'd be an easy excuse out.

_Are you sure this is the best route? Sleeping problems could be a health issue._

John frowned. If he wanted medical advice he would go to a doctor.

_This has worked before. If you don't want to, I'll be happy to find someone else._

Sherlock smiled. All right, Mister Cocky, he thought, do you want to play that game?

_Perhaps you are confused by my question. I asked if you were sure that this is the best route. I assumed you were aware that there are two possible answers: yes, sir or no, sir. Would you like to try again?_

John's whole body warmed, making him shift in his chair.

_My answer is yes, sir._

Sherlock smiled again and then stopped for a moment. What on earth was he doing? Was he really that bored? Obviously, it'd been a long time since he'd flirted with this kind of thing, but it seemed even stranger to be doing it now that John was here. John was the one who was interested in sex, not Sherlock. And yet here he was, playing a silly game with a man who appeared to want him. Sherlock stayed incredibly still, listening to see if he could hear John in the flat. What would John make of this? Obviously he should never know. Sherlock couldn't hear any noise in the flat. He called out but there was still no sound. Perhaps John had gone out. Which meant Sherlock had a big decision to make.

_Where are you right now?_

_I'm at home._

Sherlock took a deep breath.

_And where would you like to meet?_

_Is there some place you like to work? I could book a room near Lords, I'll send you the link._

Sherlock glanced up. That wasn't far from the flat. Suddenly it all seemed very real. Was he going to go through with this? What was really motivating him? He set the computer on the bed and got up to get himself something to drink, wondering if a glass of wine would help or hinder the situation he'd got himself into.

When he came out, he panicked a bit when he saw John in the sitting room. Why hadn't he answered when Sherlock had shouted for him a bit ago? He didn't want John seeing any of this emails, but he couldn't run back into his room and hide his laptop now. He tried to calm himself and said, "What are you doing here?"

John closed the computer on his lap. "What? Where would I have gone?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said awkwardly. "I don't know what . . . I'm just reading but I needed a drink. Do you want a glass of wine?"

"No thanks," John said, tapping the computer.

"So have you answered your emails which were so incredibly important?" Sherlock said, making himself a cup of tea instead.

"Almost. Taking a break," he said casually.

"Well, don't let me keep you from your important work," Sherlock said. For some reason, he felt a bit angry at John. Like somehow he was to blame for the predicament Sherlock was now in.

"Yeah, great," John said, glancing over his shoulder at him.

"Great," Sherlock said and went back into his bedroom. He sat down and took a sip of tea. He glanced at his laptop. Okay, maybe this wasn't quite how John met his dates, but was there really anything wrong with Sherlock hooking up with someone? That's what happened sometimes, right? He didn't owe John any explanation -- they were flatmates, friends. John never felt the need to explain his dates. Why did Sherlock feel so funny about this? Nerves would be normal, but this felt different than just nerves. His funny feeling was connected to John, which didn't make any sense at all. He opened his laptop and clicked on the man's link. He knew precisely where that hotel was. It wasn't far at all. But he didn't want this man to know anything about the flat.

_I can be there in two hours. I will book the room._

He sent the email. It was done now. He got the phone number for the hotel, whispering into the phone as he made the reservation. Then he lay back on the bed, feeling a bit sick to his stomach with anxiety and confusion and maybe just a little bit of excitement.

John opened the computer again, leaning down to read the message. He closed the computer, carrying it over to Sherlock's door. "Sherlock?" He knocked softly. "I'm going out."

Sherlock sat up sharply and slammed shut his laptop. "What?" he asked and then quickly got up. He opened the door. "What did you say?"

"I'm going out," John said again. "I need to, um . . . I'm getting milk."

"What? Why? I just made tea -- there will be enough for the morning," Sherlock said. "It doesn't matter anyway. I'm actually going out in a bit as well. Mycroft's asked me to look into something. If you really need the milk, I'll just get some of my way back."

"No -- I want to get it. Just . . . something to do," John said, knowing what his voice sounded like. He hoped Sherlock didn't press it.

"All right, fine, whatever," Sherlock said. "Text me if you change your mind." He stepped back as John turned and walked away. What was that all about? He wondered if he was just feeling paranoid -- there's no way John could know what he was planning to do so he couldn't have come to the door just to snoop.

"Okay, yeah," John said, turning and going away quickly. He put his computer up in his room and then went to take a shower.

Sherlock moved over to his wardrobe but realised he should take a shower before getting dressed. That's when he heard the shower already going. Why was John taking a shower before going out to get milk?

Sherlock sat down on his bed. He'd been so worried about John finding out what was going on with him that he hadn't stopped to wonder what was going on with John. John who had been acting odd for the last few days. John who had not really been eating much and who had been having trouble sleeping. Sherlock turned to open his computer and scrolled through the email exchange to read it over.

_I need your services. I'm having trouble sleeping, I was thinking sessions at night, if you could?_

It couldn't be. It couldn't be John who'd emailed him. Could it? He closed his eyes for a moment to think. Less than a minute after Sherlock had emailed the man with a time and place, John had announced his plans had changed and he was going out. John had dug out his medical records hours before Sherlock had received scans of the man's medical records. Could these things all be coincidence? Sherlock tried to scan his brain for any more evidence. And then he decided to try to create some. He sent the man one more email.

_I intend to take your request quite seriously and expect you to do the same. Come dressed smartly, wearing a tie. We'll be in Room 448. There will be instructions for you at the desk. Plan to read and obey them._

When John finished taking his shower, he went to his room to get dressed, remembering that he didn't know how he was supposed to find the man at the hotel. He pulled up his email and opened the new message. Oh. Well, that complicated things a bit. How could he explain going to get milk wearing his best? He'd just have to figure it out. He put on his nice trousers and a button up shirt, picking out a jacket to match. When he pulled out the tie, he felt like it might be too much, so he put it into his pocket before heading down stairs to leave. 

Sherlock was standing in the living room. He was standing there, waiting for John. Yes, he was definitely doing something other than just getting milk -- but he wasn't wearing a tie. Could Sherlock have been wrong? "Any particular time you'll be back?" he asked, still eyeing him up.

"I'm not sure," John said. "Might meet Mike for a drink .. ." he lied. John pat his pocket to make sure he had keys.

And that's when Sherlock saw it. Of course, Sherlock saw it. The tip of John's tie sticking out of his pocket. "Fine," he said. "Then I guess I'll see you later." He turned and moved towards his room.

John looked up, fighting the urge to invite Sherlock out with him -- that'd be the normal thing to do. He hurried out of the flat and took a deep breath on the stairs before going out to get a cab. He made sure he had the extra money with him, unsure how much the cost would be, before giving the address of the hotel.

Sherlock couldn't believe it. Why was John tricking him? He couldn't wait to see the look on John's face when he saw that Sherlock had figured it out. But wait -- suddenly Sherlock was filled with way too many questions. John was into this? With a man? With a stranger? He'd done it before? He wanted to do it again now? Why?

And then the biggest question.

What was Sherlock going to do about this?


	3. The First Visit

Sherlock noticed the clock. He jumped up and moved to the shower and then quickly dressed. He grabbed a few things from his room and threw them into a bag. He actually had no idea at the moment if he'd use anything in there. He decided to trust himself -- he'd know what to do when the time came. He put one item into an envelope, scribbled a quick note before sliding that in as well and sealing it up.

He made his way to the hotel, picking up the key at the desk. "I'm expecting a guest," he told the clerk. "Could you please give him this when he checks in with you?" He handed her the envelope and smiled before turning and making his way to the lift. The room was quite nice, and Sherlock unpacked a few things. He opened the mini bar and poured himself a drink. He glanced at the clock. It'd be any minute now. He switched off the lamp and sat down on the bed in the dark.

John stopped by a cashpoint, worried he wasn't going to have enough money. Then he went for a quick drink to help his nerves before walking to the hotel. He went to the desk to check in, taking the envelope the woman handed him. He wondered if she knew what he was here for. He opened it in the elevator and read it through twice.

 _You are under no obligation to go any further. You can turn around now and all will be well._  
_However, know that once you enter the room, you will no longer be in charge. I will be._  
_If you accept that, come upstairs, put on the blindfold and knock on the door._

After stuffing the note into his pocket, he put the tie on as he walked down the hall, then paused outside of the room and stared at the door for a long moment.

He tied the blindfold on and knocked.

Sherlock looked through the peephole. It was John and he had on the blindfold.

Sherlock opened the door and said, "Come in." He had thought about using an accent to try to disguise his voice, but hadn't decided on which, so the noise that came out was a bit of a mixture of Scottish, American, and Geordie. Luckily he'd kept it quite low so hopefully its imprecision wouldn't matter. He pulled on John's arm, gripping it tightly to lead him over to a chair, which he pushed him into. Sherlock stayed standing.

"You said you wanted indiscretion so the room is dark," Sherlock said. "Neither of us came here to talk but before we begin, I need to cover a few things." He grabbed his glass and took a quick drink. "Give me a word that means stop."

John curled his fingers on the arms of the chair before shifting to sit up a bit. "Red," John said. "I use colours."

"And is there anything you know right this moment will lead you to say the word red?" Sherlock answered. "I'd rather avoid the word if at all possible so if you already know a limit, perhaps you could mention it now."

John was about to say none, but then he paused. "No visible marks," he said. "I think that's all."

Sherlock nodded before remembering that John couldn't see him. "All right," he said calmly before swallowing another sip. "And sex? Is that something you'd be interested in?"

"Yes, sir," John said. 

Sherlock could honestly not believe what he was hearing. Then again, he was sitting in a hotel room with a blindfolded John Watson who was prepared to pay a man he'd never met before to hit him with a riding crop, so perhaps nothing was unbelievable at this point. He took a deep breath and said, "All right then. I think it's time to begin." He stood up and moved closer to John's chair. "Stand up and remove your tie."

John stood and started taking his tie off. There was something about the man's voice that sat well with him. It made him feel comfortable. When it was loose he slid it off, waiting for instruction.

Sherlock pulled the tie from John's hand. He grabbed John's arm and pulled it, leading him nearer to the bed. "Stay still," he instructed. "And no sounds." He slipped John's jacket off and tossed it onto the chair. He moved both of his hands over John's chest, pressing firmly, before sliding them down John's arms to his hold each of his wrists tightly. He leaned in and bit John's neck softly before letting go of his wrists and beginning to unbutton John's shirt. Again, he moved slowly, eventually pulling it from John's body. He looked it over -- he'd never seen John bare-chested before. He leaned in again, letting his breath ghost over John's neck and collarbone. Sherlock was surprised to find that he was already getting an erection -- he couldn't even really remember the last time that had happened. He grabbed one of John's hands and pressed it against his trousers, moving it back and forth before letting it go. "Make this harder," he said.

John stood still, flinching very lightly with each touch and breath against his skin. It was thrilling not to be able to see when they were coming. When his hand was pressed against the man's cock, he eagerly started palming and stroking, bringing his other hand up to open the man's trousers.

Sherlock grabbed John's other wrist quickly. "No," he said sharply. "You don't get to make decisions. You do what I tell you to do." He pressed his hand over John's other hand. "This is what you should be doing." He moved his own hand away, lifting it instead to the back of John's head, gripping his hair and pulling his head back. He lightly bit again at John's exposed neck before moving his mouth to the top of John's shoulder where he put a firmer bite.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was just trying to do what you asked," he said, his voice a bit breathless from the biting.

"No sounds," Sherlock said. He stepped back sharply. "Take the rest of your clothes off."

John opened his mouth to apologise and then thought better of it. He undressed quickly, his cock already hard.

Sherlock looked at John through the dark room. "On the bed," he said. "On your back."

John climbed onto the bed and lay down, his eyes moving even though he couldn't properly see.

Sherlock reached for his riding crop. He slowly slid up John's body from his ankle to his shoulder and then back down again. "No sounds," he repeated before slapping the crop sharply a few times against one of John's thighs. "I want your cock to ache," he said.

A small, surprised sound escaped before John bit his lip to keep quiet for the remainder of the hits. His hands gripped the bed.

"Separate your legs," Sherlock said. He moved over and grabbed the bottle of lube before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "And hands over your head."

John did as the man asked, wondering if he was allowed to speak now. He didn't try yet.

Sherlock tied John's tie around his wrists. Then he set a plug on John's stomach, just letting it rest there. He poured some lube into his hand and began stroking John's cock, moving his hand firmly and slowly up and down the full length.

John's stomach twitched at the weight. He had a suspicion but he couldn't help asking. "What is it?" he asked.

Sherlock ignored the question and concentrated on stroking John. He leaned over and sucked hard on John's nipple as his hand's speed increased.

"Fuck," John sighed, arching up into the man's mouth.

Sherlock quickly pulled back, moving onto the bed between John's legs. He pressed them further apart and then picked up the crop again. This time he moved it softly up the inside of John's leg, letting it brush over his balls before sliding it down his other inner thigh. Then he reached for the plug, covering it with lube and then pressing it between John's legs, teasingly, without pushing inside. "Turn over," he said. "Quickly."

John shifted as quickly as he could with his hands above his head, moaning softly at the pressing of the plug as he did.

"All you should be thinking about is what's going to happen next," Sherlock said. "Nothing else in your head." He pushed the plug in softly, moving it slowly until it was all the way inside. Then he reached around and gripped John's cock again, starting a steady stroke. "Just this," he growled as he pressed his hips against John, rocking gently.

"Yes sir," John moaned softly. He moved his hips lightly, into the man's hand and then back to feel the plug.

Sherlock leaned over John's back and bit his shoulder. His whole body was warm and for a second, he wished he could turn John over, take off the blindfold and kiss his mouth. But he didn't do that. Instead he said, "Make a moan for me. Just a noise-- no words."

John complied, groaning into the bed as he turned his head towards the man.

"That's good," Sherlock said. "I like that sound." He continued thrusting against John. "I'm going to need you to come. I want to feel it in my hand and hear more noises."

John squeezed his eyes shut and focused on everything he was feeling, letting it build the heat until he was able to let go and come as the man had asked, moaning and panting as he did.

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled, biting hard on John's shoulder again. He held John through his orgasm and then let him go, leaning back and slowly pulling the plug from his body. "Lie down," he told him.

John groaned softly as he turned around, still panting softly.

Sherlock reached up and untied John's hands, pulling them down beside his body. He stood up and gathered his things into his bag. "I've got to get going," he said softly. "The room's paid for, you can stay if you'd like. Regardless, sleep well." He tapped John's hand and then left, moving down the stairs and out of the hotel quickly.

John pulled the blindfold off, but the man was already gone. He had expected more, if he was honest, but there was nothing to do about that now. He moved up and climbed into the bed properly, forgetting that he had a flatmate to check in with as he drifted off to sleep. It took hardly any time at all.

Sherlock rushed home, throwing his bag into a cupboard and taking a shower. He masturbated under the hot water -- it felt good, something he hadn't done in a long time but after watching John's pleasure he just couldn't help it. He put the kettle on and made himself a cup, though he boiled enough for two and set John's mug out. He took his to his room, expecting John to be back soon.


	4. The Morning After

It wasn't until John woke up in the morning that he remembered where he was and what had happened. He rushed to get into the shower and get home, trying to think of a likely excuse as to why he never came home. He checked out of the room and rushed home, climbing up slowly and wondering if Sherlock was still sleeping.

Sherlock had fallen asleep waiting for John's return, but he woke to the sound of the flat door opening. He hoped that meant John had been able to sleep. It was all still quite confusing -- he had spent a fair bit of time last night trying to make sense of what had happened and what it meant but hadn't figured it out. But at this moment, he realised what he cared about most was knowing it had helped John. He wasn't sure how things would be this morning. There was a little bit of him that hoped that maybe John was going into work so they could delay seeing each other. He lay there quietly, listening for some clue about what John was doing.

When John didn't hear any noise he carefully started the kettle and made something small for breakfast, standing near the sink to eat.

Sherlock realised he needed the toilet so he slid out of bed and put his dressing gown on. He nipped to the bathroom first and then found John in the kitchen. "Tea ready?" he asked, trying to be as normal as he could.

"Almost," John said, motioning to the kettle.

Because he was worried he was deliberately avoiding it, Sherlock made himself look over. He looked . . . well rested. "You sleep all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, really good, actually," John smiled over at him.

"That's good," Sherlock said, pouring the tea. "You look well," he added, handing him his mug.

John smiled. "Thanks. I feel really well," he said. 

"Any plans for the day?" Sherlock asked. He picked up a piece of toast from John's plate and ate a bit.

"No," John said. "I'm off work for the weekend. I'll play it by ear," he shrugged. 

"Maybe we could do something -- get dinner or whatever," Sherlock said lightly. "It seems like a while since we've gone out."  
  
"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Good, then," Sherlock said. "Wherever you want -- you pick, okay?" He took his mug over to his desk to check his email.

"Yeah, all right," John agreed, following him and getting his laptop to work.

They were quiet as they worked for a bit. Obviously neither of them was going to mention last night, which was easier and logical, so at least Sherlock didn't have to worry about it accidentally coming up. However, as Sherlock glanced over from time to time, he remembered last night, thought about how he'd now seen John in a way he'd never expected to. Having that information felt a little uncomfortable -- mainly because John didn't know Sherlock had it. However, he also kind of liked it. In a strange way, it made sense to Sherlock -- there'd been an intimacy between him and John since the very beginning. Perhaps it was inevitable they'd end up sharing this kind of an intimacy as well. He smiled a little to himself, trying to stay focused on the laptop.

John read through replies and commented on a few, checking the messages for any possible cases. He read off what he found interesting to Sherlock, replying as instructed before opening his second email account. He opened a message to the man from last night.

_Your services were very effective. I never gave you any money before you left so quickly, and I would like to pay you. Next time I can pay for two sessions, if that will be easier. Thanks again._

John closed out of his email and went back to browsing nonsense.

Sherlock's Inbox flashed a new message and he read it through. It was quite intriguing -- he felt a little proud of the fact that he'd helped John but what did it mean that he wanted to do it again? Definitely intriguing. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and realised he wanted to do it again as well. He stood up to make himself a fresh cup of tea. He turned to John and said, "Need a top up?"

"Yes please," John smiled, lifting his mug up to Sherlock.

While waiting for the kettle, Sherlock reached up and got a plate, setting some biscuits on it. He poured the tea and then brought the plate and a mug over to John. "Here you go," he said, before getting his own mug and heading back to his desk.

John made a surprised face, glancing over at Sherlock. "Oh, thanks," he said, taking one of the biscuits.

Sherlock nodded and got back to work. After a little while, he hit reply to John's email and sent his own.

_Glad it was useful. You know how to reach me if you'd like to meet again._

He smiled to himself as he hit Send.

When John saw the little email notification, he opened it quickly and bit his lip. He had slept so well the night before, but he didn't want to overdo it all at once. It would be harder to keep his story together if he was going every night. He closed the email and didn't reply for now. Maybe Sunday night before he had to work again so he could be rested.

The afternoon passed into early evening and finally Sherlock stood up, stretched and announced, "I'm bored." He took his three empty mugs to the sink and washed them and then went to get John's plate and mugs before washing those as well. "Still want to go out?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll go get ready," John said.

"Do I have time for a bath before we go?" Sherlock asked. "I kind of fancied one."

"Yeah, that's fine," John said. "We can go after."

"Thanks," Sherlock said. He disappeared into his room, coming back out with some clothes. He turned on the bath and shaved while it filled. Then he sunk into it, washing himself and his hair before just leaning back into the hot water. He closed his eyes and thought a bit about last night, until he realised he was getting aroused so he stopped thinking about it and got out and got dressed.

John opened his email again.

_I would like to meet Sunday night. Can we use the same place?_

After he sent it he went up to his room to change his clothes for dinner.

Sherlock came out but John was gone, so he sat down to wait for him. He checked his phone and saw John's email. He smiled a little and sent a reply, setting a time. He quickly slipped his phone in his pocket when he heard John's bedroom door open. "Ready then?" he called, standing up. "Where did you pick?"

"Oh, I didn't actually think about it. Hmm. I'm craving something different, sushi, maybe?" John suggested.

"Fancy," Sherlock said. "I know a place," he added, getting up and moving to the door. "Is that why you're dressed so nicely tonight?" he asked as he helped John on with his coat. "Because you want to splash out a little?"

"It's just my normal clothes," John said. "But thanks." He smiled at Sherlock and zipped his coat.

"Well, I appreciate your returning the compliment," Sherlock said. "Oh that's right -- you didn't." He smiled. "Come on, then, Mister Impolite." They headed out to the street, and Sherlock got them a taxi. They drove on for a while and then pulled up outside a nice Japanese restaurant. Sherlock held the door for John as he went in.

John looked around. "This place is great," he said. "Well, it looks great anyway."

"It is good," Sherlock said. "I came here once a long time ago and it was good then at least."

"Well, I'm sure it is. Let's sit and order," he smiled.

Sherlock pulled out John's chair for him. "I might get a glass of wine," he said, as he sat and opened up the menu. "I didn't know you liked sushi," he added as he skimmed through the options.

"Yeah, I do," John said. "I don't have it very often."

"Hmm . . . I wonder what other secrets you're hiding," Sherlock mumbled and then swallowed awkwardly. He hadn't actually meant it to refer to last night, but now he panicked. He looked up and got the waiter over immediately as a distraction. He ordered his wine and food and then looked over at John.

John flushed and was about to ask what Sherlock was referring to when the waiter came over. He ordered quickly and looked over at Sherlock again.

Sherlock started talking a bit stupidly about something he'd read online and then somehow brought Mycroft into the story and then changed to talk about why he didn't like that the shop two streets over from the flat was closing. He was hoping that keeping the discussion going might keep from saying something else wrong.

"Sherlock!" John interrupted. "Stop babbling on," he said, a bit annoyed. "What's the matter with you?"

Sherlock looked up and saw the waiter setting down the wine. He took a quick sip. "I'm just trying to have a conversation," he said quietly. "Fine," he said, trying to make his voice normal. "You pick a topic then."

"I don't mind you picking the topic, Sherlock. Of course I don't. But you haven't picked a topic -- you're rambling," he said. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Is that the conversation you want to have -- 'what's wrong with Sherlock'? Because that topic is uninteresting to me," he added.

"Never mind. Just keep going about that stuff your brother sent you," John said.

"No," Sherlock said. He took another sip of wine. "Sorry if I ruined the night," he mumbled into the glass.

"You didn't! Sherlock, I'm sorry," John said. "Please . . ."

"All right," Sherlock said, taking another sip of wine. "Let's talk about the surgery -- how's everything at work? Did you say you hired someone new? Are they working out all right?"

"Um, we haven't hired anyone new. We've been busy, it might help, honestly, but yeah. Work is good," he said. 

They talked for a little while until their food came, which gave Sherlock something else to focus on. By the end of the meal, Sherlock felt a little more in control of himself. After dinner, they headed back home. Sherlock put the kettle on and they settled on the sofa. "Do you want to watch a film before bed?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," John said. "Pick one."

"No, no, no," Sherlock said. "You're so fussy about films -- you pick. I'm sure whatever you pick will be just fine."

"You're the fussy one! You hate everything," John said as he moved to the stack they had near the bookshelves. 

"Well, I'll try harder tonight," Sherlock said. He stood up and went to the kitchen and brought back a plate of biscuits. "Here," he said, handing them to John. "I know you like ending your meals with something sweet."

John took the plate. "Thanks," he said. "It's a documentary -- something about space I saw a while ago."

"That sounds more promising actually," Sherlock said. He leaned back a bit and put his feet up to settle in. He managed to stay quite focused actually. At the end, he looked over at John and said, "See? My eyes are open and have stayed open the whole film. I did it, John. I paid attention the whole time." He smiled as if he'd just completed a huge accomplishment.

John rolled his eyes but smiled fondly. "Yes, good for you," he teased. 

"Hurtful," Sherlock said, reaching over a grabbing a crumb of biscuit and throwing it at John. "I expected you to be a bit prouder of me. What's the point of having you as a friend if not to be make me feel better? I knew friendship was more trouble than it was worth."

John laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, of course I am proud -- very proud of you, Sherlock."

"Well, next time act like it," Sherlock said, stretching a little. "Um, do you want me to stay up with you, in case you can't sleep? I don't mind . . ."

"Oh, no," John said quickly. "I'm sure that was just a one time thing." He looked down at his tea and drank the last of it, hoping Sherlock couldn't tell he was lying.

"All right. If you change your mind, though," Sherlock said as he stood up. "You know where I am. And where I am will be in my room," he added. "I think I'll read until I go to sleep."

"Okay," John said, closing everything and heading up to his room. He wondered what Sherlock would have done had he asked him instead of contacting the Craig's List guy. He didn't even know if Sherlock had ever had sex before, let alone all of that. No. His secret would have to remain his own.

Sherlock lay in bed with his book resting on his chest. He was thinking about tomorrow night. John wanted to meet again, but how would Sherlock also explain that he had to go out? Actually, he wondered, how was John going to explain it? He put his book on the table, turning off the lamp and rolling onto his side. This was a bit stupid, wasn't it? If this is what John wanted and Sherlock was prepared to give it to him, why did they have to go through all this trouble? Why couldn't Sherlock just go upstairs right now and say, it was me and I'll do it again if you want me to? Wouldn't that make the most sense? But then everything would change. Maybe John only liked men for this kind of thing. How would Sherlock feel if John kept dating women and only invited Sherlock to bed when he couldn't sleep? Sherlock didn't think he'd like that very much.

John had a long night. He didn't want to get up and make Sherlock suspicious so he was forced to lie there and stare at the ceiling until sleep finally took him. He tossed and turned, waking up in the morning too early, not feeling rested at all. He padded downstairs to make some tea, rubbing his face hard.

Sherlock heard John and opened his eyes. He glanced at the clock -- this seemed much too early for one of John's days off. He wondered if that meant he was having trouble sleeping again. He stood up and went to his bedroom door, opening it. "You awake for the day or just getting up for an early morning drink?" he asked, yawning.

"For the day, I think. I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured.

"Did you have trouble sleeping?" Sherlock asked stepping out into the kitchen.

"Uh . . . no. I mean -- it was fine," he said.

"John, why didn't you come get me? Maybe I could've helped," Sherlock said. He yawned again. "I'm not ready to get up. Do you want to come sleep in my room with me? It might help. Maybe you just need a change."

"I just fell asleep too early," John lied. "I'm okay." He glanced at Sherlock's bedroom and then to the kettle.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Suffer in silence then." He turned and went back into his room, leaving the door open. He lay back down on his bed and reached for his book.

"I'm not suffering," John muttered as he poured his tea.

"I can't hear you," Sherlock called from his room.

"I wasn't talking to you!" John called back.

"Fine," Sherlock called. "Go back to bed, John Watson, because you're in a terrible mood!"

John rolled his eyes and sank down in his chair, opening the computer for something to do. He did feel irritable. He couldn't wait for tonight so he could sleep.

Sherlock looked at his book for a little bit. He wondered what John was doing, but he also wondered why John kept having such a rough time sleeping lately. Was he not happy living here? Maybe Sherlock shouldn't have shouted at him. He got up and came out. "Sorry for shouting," he said and poured himself a cup of tea. "Are you sure I can't do anything to help?" 

John nodded. "I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm sorry for my mood."

"It's all right," Sherlock said. "Look, I'm going to go back into my room. You can come in if you want, if you think it would help. If not, I'll leave you be."

John looked over his shoulder. "Why would coming in there help more than out here?"

"God, I don't know," Sherlock huffed. "I just thought you might prefer company. But whatever -- sorry, I bothered." He turned to go back into his room.

"I was just asking," John called after him, bunkering down in his chair even more.

Sherlock stomped back to his room and got into bed. He opened his book, but realised he felt too agitated to read so he set it aside and turned on his side. Why was John being such a baby about this? Why wouldn't he just come into Sherlock's room and let Sherlock take care of him? Instead he'd just suffer through a terrible night and be grumpy to Sherlock all day and then run off to let some stranger help him? Obviously Sherlock was aware that he in fact was the stranger, but John didn't know that. Maybe if Sherlock went out and ordered John into his room, he'd come. But somehow that didn't seem right. He lay there feeling conflicted and annoyed until he fell back to sleep for a while.

John listened to Sherlock's stomping and rolled his eyes. He didn't have time to deal with Sherlock's pouting when his own mood was so poor. Why couldn't Sherlock baby him for once? Why couldn't Sherlock try to do something to make John stop pouting, instead of just trying to pout harder? He felt himself getting even more irritable so he pulled up a film on his computer and settled in to watch it, trying to distract himself for a while.  

When Sherlock woke up again, he felt a little better until he remembered what had happened earlier. This was all quite confusing to him, and he blamed John for that, only because before John he wouldn't have cared -- not about someone else's insomnia, not about someone else choosing a stranger's comfort over Sherlock's, not about any of it. But he did care now, because John had brought feelings into the flat and made Sherlock recognise he had feelings for John. It all felt extremely unfair at the moment. However, ultimately, Sherlock knew that was irrelevant at the moment.

What was relevant was that John was having a hard time, and Sherlock wanted to help him -- in whatever way John would let him. He reached over and pulled his laptop towards him, opening up their last email exchange.

_Just checking to see if you would still like to meet this evening. Please advise if there are any new requirements for our visit. My goal is customer satisfaction._

He read it over. This situation was not ideal, but if it meant he could help John, that's all that mattered.

John heard the little sound indicating a new email, startling a bit because he thought he had closed the window. He read the message and thought for a moment. 

_There aren't any new requirements. I slept well after the last time. I do still want to meet. I am feeling irritable -- I didn't sleep well last night at all -- and I need to rest._

Sherlock read the response. He wondered if John's attitude towards him would be different since he seemed to acknowledge his grouchiness. Sherlock called the hotel to make the booking.

_Room 325 tonight. You needn't stop at the desk, but I'll expect the same appearance as last time. Including the blindfold._

He hit send and then stood up and stretched before making his way to the bathroom.

John sighed softly. How would he explain leaving the flat all dressed up again? 

_I'll have it with me. I'll see you then._

Sherlock came out of the bathroom and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He glanced at John in his chair. "Need more tea?" he asked.

John closed his email quickly. "No thanks, I'm still working on this one."

"All right," Sherlock said, pouring a cup of himself. "Do you want anything to eat? I can't really make anything, but I could take you out to breakfast if you'd like."

John turned to look at Sherlock over his chair. "I'm not pleasant company," he warned. 

"Well, to be fair, John, you usually aren't," Sherlock said, smiling a bit. "I mean, between the nagging and the criticism, I often find it hard to be around you. Yet I do it -- I suppose because I am just such a good person, I'm prepared to make that sacrifice." He pulled a face at him. "Actually, I'm offering it as a kind of apology. I've had a message from Mycroft that he needs me tonight so I won't be around. I'm not quite sure when I'll be back -- probably not until quite late. I know you've got work tomorrow so I'll be quiet when I come in. Anyway, I just feel a bit bad leaving you hanging so I'll put up your unpleasant company at breakfast if you'd like.

"Yes, you make such a compelling argument for me to want to spend time with you," John teased back. "You don't have to take me out just because you're going out. Is it a case?"

"No, not really . . . you know Mycroft . . . he just wants some information but he has to be dramatic about it," Sherlock said.

"Oh. Well, maybe I will take you up on some breakfast," John said as he stood up. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Hopefully some greasy food will cheer you up." He stood up and moved to his room to get dressed.

John went up to get dressed as well, waiting for Sherlock by the door. 

Sherlock came out, smiling at John. "Well, you look presentable despite your poor attitude," he said, grabbing his coat.

They made their way to the small cafe a few streets over. Sherlock got a pot of tea and some toast. "Order whatever will make you less unpleasant," he smiled to John. Sherlock paid and then carried his tea over to a table. When John sat down, he said, "Look, about the sleeping . . . is something bothering you? I said I wouldn't hassle you, but if there's something at the flat that's bothering you, we should maybe talk about it . . ."

"There's nothing at the flat that's bothering me," he said. "It's just . . . it's just something that happens sometimes. I'm fine," he said.

"But -- but I thought things were good," Sherlock said. "I just wish . . . I could help, I guess."

"Things are good. My sleep has nothing to do with you and our home." John licked his lips and focused on his plate. "The gym helped -- getting tired out, you know?"

"Right," Sherlock said. "Well, you know I'm not interested in that kind of thing, but if it helps, that's good, I guess." He took a bite of toast. "You going to keep going then?" he asked.

"Yeah," John nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Well, good," Sherlock said. "If it's helping you, I think it's good." He took a long drink of tea. He glanced over at John and then looked down at the rest of his toast. "Just know that if I can help you, John, I will .. . you've helped me so much, I'd be happy to return the favour."

John looked up and, for one second, he wondered if Sherlock knew what he was really up to. But there was no way he could have found out. Could he? "I appreciate that, Sherlock," he said.

"Good, fine," Sherlock said. "Let's shut up about all that now." He took another sip of tea. "When was the last time you spoke to Lestrade?" he asked. "I think he's avoiding me."

They talked for the rest of the breakfast. Sherlock was pleased John had eaten properly. That certainly would help if the insomnia was health-related. But he didn't say that. He felt like to say anymore might be suspicious so he did his best to act normally the rest of the day.

When they got to the flat John glanced at his computer and unfinished film. "What time do you have to go?"

"I'll head out around six, I guess," Sherlock said. "You working a half day tomorrow or will you be gone until five?" he asked.

"Probably all day," John said.

"Well, if I don't see you in the morning, let me know and I can sort dinner or something," Sherlock said. He sat down at his desk to busy himself or to at least appear like he was busying himself.

"Okay. I'll make sure I'll text you as soon as I know." John was debating now if it was a good idea to go to work the day after a session, but the first one had been relatively tame so maybe it would be okay.

"Yeah, good, okay," Sherlock said, as if he was incredibly focused on what was on his computer screen. He read the paper online and then answered a few emails. Eventually, he stood up and said, "I might take a bath again. I'm finding them quite relaxing, which will usually before dealing with my brother. Maybe you should try one tonight if you can't sleep?"  
  
"Yeah, maybe," John said, sounding distracted himself.

Sherlock headed into his bedroom and got some clothes out before realising that he'd have to carry out his bag. He'd have to figure out how to deal with that. Then he went in to turn on the bath and eventually sunk down into the hot water. He did find baths relaxing. He closed his eyes and pictured John in the bath, his body letting go of all its tension in the heat. He imagined himself there with John, maybe washing his back or hair and it all seemed so nice and comforting and safe and suddenly he realised that was what he wanted to be to John. And then he felt a bit sad because it didn't seem like that could ever happen. He thought for a moment about calling off the hotel meeting to try to protect himself. But this wasn't about him, it was about helping John. Sherlock had had enough practice at controlling his feelings, turning them off when they weren't necessary. He'd just have to do that now, but in a slightly different way.


	5. The Second Visit

Once Sherlock was dressed, he put his supplies into his bag and carried it out to the table. He glanced up at John's room and then quickly got his coat, carrying his bag over his shoulder. He tapped lightly and said, "I'm taking off, John. If I don't see you before work, have a good day tomorrow. I'll be quiet when I come in. Text me if you need me."

"Okay, yeah," John called through the door. "See you." He watched the door until he heard Sherlock's footsteps, grabbing his towel to go take a shower himself. 

Sherlock made his way to the hotel. For some reason along the way, he stopped and bought some flowers, which he realised was stupid as John would be blindfolded the whole time. Besides, this wasn't a date. It wasn't romantic. To John it was a business transaction. To Sherlock it was helping a friend. Well, kind of.

When he got to the room, he set up what he'd need for the night and then made himself a drink. It helped a little to relax. He lay on the bed and flicked through the channels, watching the clock carefully.

John took a long shower before going up to get dressed. He fussed his hair a bit before tying the tie around his neck. He packed a bag for work the next morning so he wouldn't have to come to the flat at all. It was easier, except for the fact that he had no way of explaining that.

He made his way to the hotel, went up to the room, put on his blindfold and knocked.

Sherlock moved to the door and looked through the hole. He opened the door. "Come in," he said in a voice that may or may not have been similar to the accent he'd used last time. He pulled him towards the bed, so the mattress pressed the back of John's legs. "Give me your tie," he said, standing close so John could sense his location.

John moved quickly took his tie off and handed it to the man, lifting his head even though he couldn't see.

Sherlock grabbed John's hands roughly, holding them and the tie. He lifted them to his own neck, flipping the tie around, letting John feel that he was putting it on himself. "I'm wearing this now," he said. "It stays with me. I own it." He let John's hands fall as he reached into John's pockets. "What else here can I own?" He pulled out John's keys and let them drop to the floor. He did the same with John's wallet, muttering "Not interested." Then he slid his hand to John's trouser button, flipping it open and pulling on the zip. He slipped his hand inside, letting his fingers curve around the shape of John's cock. "This," he stated. "I own." He pressed his hand against John as he leaned in and bit at John's neck.

John shivered at the touch and bucked into it, almost leaning against the man. "All yours," he murmured, closing his eyes behind the blindfold. 

"No sounds," Sherlock said. "Hands behind your back." He waited for John to hold his wrists behind him. Then he turned his hand, reaching inside John's pants, to hold his cock firmly. He got down onto his knees and freed John's cock, leaning close so his breath brushed against it. "This is mine now . . . to do with what I want," he said. "But for now, I want silence. If I hear any sound at all from you, I will be very disappointed." He stretched his tongue to lightly touch the tip as he kept a tight grip around the warm flesh of John's now hard cock. His tongue drew circles around the head, teasing it, testing John.

John bit the inside of his lip in effort to keep completely quiet, panting softly and trying to focus on that instead. He was burning all over, his cock hard in the man's hands. 

Sherlock closed his lips and pressed them hard against the end of John's cock, stroking the rest slowly with his hand. Then he slid the tip of his tongue between his lips and pressed his head forward as he opened his mouth, taking John deep inside, before pulling his head back as he sucked down to the tip again. He kept this movement going, tasting John for the first time. Sherlock's own cock ached between his legs. After a few moments, he pulled all the way off, stood up sharply and said, "Take your clothes off."

John huffed out a hard breath as he hurried to take his clothes off, tossing them to the side, careful not to disrupt the blindfold. 

"On the bed," Sherlock said, pausing before adding, "On all fours."

John felt behind him before turning to get up on the bed, getting into position. He looked over his shoulder, wishing he could take the blindfold off. 

"Put your head on the pillow," Sherlock instructed. He reached for his crop and dragged it slowly down John's back. "I don't want any sounds yet," he reminded him as he slapped the leather over John's arse a few times.

John lowered his head and bit the pillow as he tried to keep quiet. It was hard -- it felt good. 

"I can tell you make excellent decisions," Sherlock said. "But sometimes it's good to let someone else decide." He climbed up onto the bed and slid his hand between John's legs, tugging lightly on his balls, before separating his legs a little. He pressed his hips against John's, his own cock straining in his trousers. "Should I fuck you tonight?" he asked. "Answer the question properly."

John's need slipped out before he could pause to think about anything. "Yes, sir. Please," he added, his voice a bit breathless. 

"That is an excellent decision," Sherlock said. "However, the answer is no. Because tonight I am in charge of deciding." He leaned over John's back. He could see the small mark he'd left on Friday night. He bit it again, leaving a larger mark. "Should I tie your wrists?" he asked.

John shivered lightly with need. He brought his arms behind his back and nodded.

"I didn't hear your answer," Sherlock scolded.

"Yes, sir," John said, his voice slightly muffled into the pillow.

"Above your head," Sherlock said, shifting and pulling the tie from his neck. He tied John's wrists together. He slid to the side, looking over John's body. It was odd that he was so free to touch it. He realised he wanted to. He moved a little and ran his hand from John's shoulder down his back, all the way to the back of his thigh. He pinched the skin there. He got up and walked around the bed, watching John, before he reached down and pulled something from underneath the chair. He got back on the bed behind John and spilled lube over his hand. He reached around John's body and gripped his cock tightly, stroking fast. "Does this feel good?" he asked.

John jumped lightly when he was pinched, turning his head and trying not to pull the blindfold off. He nodded. "Yes," he added, biting his lip again. He was trying not to squirm.

"Good," Sherlock said. "That's what I want." He kept stroking, rocking himself against John. Then he slid his hand around, dribbled some more lube, and pressed two fingers against John's hole. He paused and then pushed them slowly inside. "Does this feel good?" he asked again.

John's back arched so he pushed back. "Yes . . ." he sighed, moaning softly into the bed.

"Then you're giving me what I want," Sherlock said. He began moving his fingers deeper, pulling them back and pushing then in again. He increased the movement a little, brushing his fingertips against John's prostate. "I want some noise now," he said. "No words, just sounds."

John opened his mouth against the pillow, letting his breaths and moans and groans come freely. His body was still moving, he was so close.

Sherlock pulled back, reaching for a curved toy, which he covered with lube. He pressed it against John without pushing it inside. "I'd like to hear the word yes now," he said.

"Yes," John said immediately. "Please, yes . . "

"I liked that," Sherlock growled. "I'm not ready for this to end. I don't want you to come yet." He pushed the toy inside John, moving it back and forth as he reached round and began stroking his cock again. "Close . . . but don't come."

"M'close already..." John sighed.

"I want you aching," Sherlock said. "Are you aching?"

John shook his head. "Make me," he whispered.

Sherlock turned the toy as he moved it faster, speeding up his hand as well. "I want nothing is your head but feeling good -- you won't make the decision to come. My hands will decide and when you come, nothing else will matter. There will be nothing in your head, in this room, but that feeling -- do you understand? Say yes, sir. Say yes," Sherlock's voice was a low moan and he realised his own hips were rocking with his hands' movement.

"Yes . . .yes sir," John moaned, his breath very fast now. "Please . . ." he panted.

Sherlock bent over, barely able to keep his own body still, and bit John's shoulder again before kissing it softly. "I want to hear noises," he said. "I want you to come now."

John moaned and gasped for a couple more minutes before he let go and came, shuddering and clutching his own tied hands, his moan deep and long.

"God, yes," Sherlock called. He pulled away the toy and dropped down against John's back, wrapping his arm around John's stomach to hold him for a few moments. Then he let go, pushing himself up as he reached to untie John's hands. He slid the tie into his pocket and let his hand drop softly onto John's hair, stroking it lightly. "It's time for sleep now," he said. "Checkout's at noon." He adjusted himself a bit, collecting his things before stuffing them into his bag, grabbing his coat, and slipping out the door.

John tugged the blindfold away but again it was too late. He didn't have the energy to sit up and try to look. He was out within minutes, snoring softly.

Sherlock rushed home, throwing his bag under his bed and grabbing his pajamas. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Once again, he had to masturbate -- this time he himself was aching. He let himself remember every detail of what happened in the hotel, replayed every sound John had made, and then let go himself, moaning loudly. He pressed his face against the damp tile, panting as the hot water poured down his face. He caught his breath, finished washing and stepped out, drying off and putting on his pajamas. He made himself a cup of tea and then went to bed. For a while he listened to the silence of the flat, waiting in case John came back, but eventually he fell into his own deep sleep.


	6. Back To Normal

Sherlock woke up, rolling over to look at his clock. It was later than he'd expected. He dragged himself to the bathroom and then went to make a cup of tea. Nothing looked different in the kitchen, so he went up to John's room, pushing on the door lightly. John's bed hadn't been slept in. He hoped that meant John had slept well at the hotel. He smiled a little -- that hotel wasn't cheap, trust John Watson who was so tight with money to require an expensive bed to sleep in. He went back downstairs, carrying his tea to his desk to check his email.

John texted Sherlock at lunch, not mentioning the fact that he hadn't come last night. He simply kept it to dinner talk and to how Sherlock's day had been.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa when he got John's text. He was a bit bored and as a result, he'd been thinking about John and their little predicament, but was worried he should be thinking about something else.

_I'm bored so might go out and get the papers. I hope I didn't wake you when I came in. I was dead to the world so slept through your departure. Chinese for dinner sounds good. Let me know if you want me to pick it up. SH_

_Yeah, Chinese sounds good. I'll be home around 3. -JW_

John carefully didn't reply to the part about Sherlock possibly waking him, though he was thankful he got away with staying out all night.

_All right. See you then. SH_

Sherlock turned on his side and flipped on the television, flicking through the channels until he settled on the news. He watched that for a bit before going to take a shower. At about quarter to three, he went out, stopping in at the Chinese to place the order and then nipping to the news agents to pick up the papers while he waited.

John left work and took a taxi home, gripping the handle of the bag and rehearsing saying it was his gym bag in his head. But it turned out that wasn't necessary. Sherlock wasn't home. John took the bag up to his room quickly and changed into his house clothes.

When Sherlock paid for the food, he sent a quick text to John.

_On my way. You home yet? SH_

_Yes, I just walked in a little bit ago. -JW_

Sherlock unlocked the door and headed up the stairs. He brought the food in. "I'm back," he said aloud even though he knew John could see him. "How was your day?" he asked, bringing the food to the kitchen. "Do you want to eat now or save it until later?"

"Um, I'll have some now. I didn't eat at lunch," John said.

Sherlock moved to get the plates and started scooping out the food. "Did you sleep all right last night?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Yeah, really well," John said, flipping the kettle on while Sherlock served the food.

"Good," he said. "So hopefully unpleasant John won't be coming round anymore." He smiled. As they ate, he told John about being bored today and how he hoped they'd have a new case soon. It seemed like a normal dinner, and it flashed in Sherlock's mind that perhaps John's insomnia was settled now and he wouldn't need help anymore. Perhaps those two nights at the hotel were the only ones they'd share. It kind of made Sherlock a little sad, but he tried to shake that off and be normal.

As they ate and talked, John's mind drifted off to the man he had been meeting. He started it all for better sleep, but there was something different about the way this man was doing it. He tuned Sherlock out for a moment and he realised it was the touching when it was all done --t he way the man touched his arm lightly before leaving the first time, and the way he fiddled with John's hair before wishing him a good night. There was a kindness, which he hadn't been expecting. He felt a very small longing to offer extra if the man would stay and sleep with him. Was that what he really wanted? Suddenly his eyes focused on Sherlock -- he had offered exactly that. _Do you want to come sleep in my room with me? It might help._ What if he had said yes? What if that had worked? But Sherlock wouldn't have cuddled with him. Would he? John could never ask. The thought of paying someone to do that made him a bit sad. 

After dinner, they watched a film and then both went off to bed. As Sherlock lay there, he thought again about the fact that he might never get to be with John again in that way. Again he realised that made him feel sad. He rolled over in a huff, as if John was to blame for all of this. Because in a way he was. John was the cause of all Sherlock's feelings really -- John had made him care, John had turned him on, and now John was making him sad. There was a strange irony to the fact that John was completely unaware that he'd played a role in any of that.

What Sherlock needed was something else to think about. And that's exactly what he got the next morning when he checked his email. It wasn't a huge case -- he was relatively sure he had it sorted before he'd even reached the end of the client's email. But it was something to focus on. He set out to work and came home each night to John, who listened to his findings, asked the right questions, and occasionally took notes for the eventual blog post. Things were back to normal, which was probably for the best.


	7. Not Back To Normal

However, things weren't actually back to normal. Unbeknownst to Sherlock, as the week went on John's sleeping got worse and worse again. He barely slept and when he did, he had these odd dreams. They were all about Sherlock finding out about the other man, his reaction different every time John had the dream. By Thursday, when he only slept for two hours, he decided that he needed to see the man again. He needed to be properly exhausted so he could sleep for a whole day. Just after he got to work he opened the email and sent a new message. 

_My sleeping has been horrendous all week. I need to meet you again, and I need something more. I need to be boneless...exhausted. Dragging it out last time worked pretty well--maybe we could do more of that? I'm open to ideas._

Sherlock was sitting at the desk, compiling his findings before contacting the client to arrange a final meeting. When an email notification flashed and he saw who the sender was, he was confused until he realised all he had to do was open the email to understand. Except that didn't actually help either. Why was John telling this man he was still having trouble sleeping? Sherlock hadn't heard him up late at night, although to be fair, Sherlock had actually been out quite late most nights this week. He tried to picture John's face from this morning -- did it look extra tired? He couldn't remember now and realised he'd been trying to avoid looking closely at John's face, worrying that it would make of think of the times at the hotel. If John was telling the truth about his sleeping, that meant Sherlock had let his own issues take priority over noticing what was going on with John. Was that possible? Probably. Sherlock was selfish at the best of times, and the whole confusion about feelings might have inspired him to be a bit more selfish. Then again, perhaps John was lying to this man. But why would he do that?

He thought very carefully before replying. He'd been trying to get used to that bit being over and done with, even though he wished it wasn't. Now he had the chance to do it again -- should he take it or would it set him back in terms of being sad? God, feelings were so complicated and annoying, he thought. He actually stood up and had a cigarette at the window before replying, hoping it would clear his head. Yes, these feelings were complicated and annoying. But he really liked the feeling of looking after John. That was definitely a good feeling. He moved back to his desk.

_I am happy to help. Would tomorrow night work for you? I have other tools I could bring, but if you are looking for something specific, perhaps you should mention it now before the games begin._

It was lunch time when John found a chance to check his email. He shifted closer and thought about his reply for a moment. 

_Tomorrow night works perfectly. I just need it to last longer.  
_

Sherlock was sitting, staring at the screen waiting. He'd forgotten about his case. He picked up the phone and booked the room and then saw the reply.

_Of course. I do feel obliged to remind you that insomnia can be a health concern especially if you have no idea what's causing it. Meeting at seven would give us more time. We'll be in Room 525._

_I know exactly what it causing it. I just need to turn it all off for a bit. I can meet you at seven. Thank you._

_My pleasure. I'll see you tomorrow._

Sherlock stopped his finger from adding a kiss. Why would he even have considered that? Great, the confusing feelings had already returned. However, the good ones had come back as well. He wished it was tonight they'd be going to the hotel.

But it wasn't. So he tried to turn off those thoughts and turned back to the case, typing up the email to the client.

John closed the emails and went back to work, feeling relieved that they had a new meeting. He wondered how long he could keep this going. Did the man realise he wasn't getting money? Maybe John should mention that as soon as he walked in tomorrow. He didn't want any trouble, after all. John texted Sherlock on his way home, wondering if he wanted anything new for dinner. He would be fine with leftovers if Sherlock didn't. 

_I'm meeting the client over dinner. Do you want to come? SH_

_Am I needed? Is it something serious? -JW_

_No. Primarily collecting the payment. I'm not leaving until seven. See you shortly. SH_

_Thanks. See you. -JW_

When John got home, he hurried upstairs, calling out for Sherlock.

Sherlock put the kettle on for John before he went into his room to change. He came out when he heard John come in. "The kettle's just gone," he said. "Do you want me to bring some food back for you or something? I won't be that late."

"No, I'm going to have the leftovers," John said. "You'll be fine in your own?"

"I think I can handle it," Sherlock said, smiling. "If you're up when I get back, we can maybe write it up, unless you're too tired."

"I'll see when you come home," John said.

"All right," Sherlock said, moving to get his coat. "Text me if you need anything." He headed out, meeting the client. She was pleased with the fact that he'd found the information she'd requested, even though the information itself did not please her -- she was sure the reason she been fired at work was due to dodgy reasons, and even though she now had the evidence to take it to a tribunal, the whole thing definitely upset her. Sherlock watched the water collect in her eyes, and Sherlock felt like he should do something. But he didn't know quite what to do and, if he were honest, he didn't really care. He didn't know her -- why should he care? He did the only thing he could think to do, which was call the waiter over and order some wine.

At the flat, John ate in his chair while he watched part of another film, dozing on and off without properly falling asleep.

As Sherlock headed home, he realised that had not gone as he'd expected. That would be the last time he'd ever deal with a client over dinner. He didn't eat but had had two glasses of wine while she wittered on about God knows what. He climbed up the stairs to the flat and came in, finding John sleeping on the sofa. "I'm back," he said. "Sorry that was longer than expected. It was a bit of a nightmare. I wish you'd been there." He hung up his coat and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

John shifted and sat up, closing his eyes again as he sighed. "Sorry I missed it."

"It was stupid," Sherlock said. "And I'm accidentally just a little drunk. Not drunk, just . . . I feel quite unpleasant actually. Do you care if we wait until tomorrow to work? You look tired anyway." He brought two mugs of tea in even though he saw that John already had one when he set them on the table.

John opened his eyes. "Accidentally drunk?" he asked. "That's fine. I couldn't focus now anyway."

"It's just she was all . . . emotional -- it was really more your department. I couldn't handle it so naturally I introduced alcohol as a distraction," Sherlock said, smiling a little. He took a sip of tea. "You do anything interesting tonight?"

"Not at all," John said. "Sorry I didn't come along."

"Here," Sherlock said, pulling the cheque from his pocket. "You be in charge of this." He took a long sip of tea. "I'll be bored now. I need another case."

"You've literally just finished one," John said. 

"I know that," Sherlock said. "But you know I like to keep busy. Shut up anyway, why are you picking on me?"

"I'm not!" John said. "Calm down."

"All right," Sherlock said. "Maybe it's the wine talking. Let me think . . . is there anything I want to get off my chest that I could blame on the wine. Um . . . I don't like the way you . . . " he pulled a serious face like he was thinking. "No, I can't think of anything. It's all good. But I am sleepy so I'm going to bed even though it's probably ridiculously early but I don't even care." He stood up and took his mug to the sink.

John laughed. "The wine made you a bit sweet, I think. Go to bed and get back to normal."

"I doubt that," Sherlock said. "Luckily you're too drunk to remember my sweetness in the morning." He stretched. "Wake me before you leave for work, okay? I need to find something to keep me busy." He headed towards his bedroom. "If you need me for anything, you know where I'll be."

"Good night, Sherlock." John packed away the food and grabbed his computer before heading up to his room as well. He lay down, trying to take advantage of his sleepiness. But in bed it wouldn't come. 

Sherlock changed into his pajamas and then went to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and then drinking two glasses of water. He fell into bed and it was incredibly comfortable. He turned on his side and reached out his arm. He kind of wished John was here with him. It'd be nice.

John was up for hours. When his alarm went up, he shut it off and called Sarah, asking about the work load and wondering if he could be on call instead. He was exhausted and he wanted to try to sleep. It was an hour later before he managed to nap.

When Sherlock woke up, he got up and made his way to the kitchen. He turned on the kettle, which was cold, and felt annoyed that John had left without waking him. He made his tea and took it to the desk, opening up his laptop, hoping to find a case.

John woke around noon, glad he taken off work. He made his way down stairs, padding to the bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, genuinely surprised. "You said you were working. Why aren't you working? What's happening?"

"I-I had trouble sleeping," John admitted.

"Again, John?" Sherlock said. His stomach hurt a little -- John hadn't been lying in his email, Sherlock had just failed to pay attention properly. "You could've woken me. I would've sat up with you . . . or whatever would've helped." He got up and moved to the kitchen to put the kettle back on.

"It's fine," John mumbled, waving his hand absently.

But it wasn't fine with Sherlock. He felt like he'd let John down and that was the last thing he'd wanted. He had to make it up to him. "Well, look, I'll take you out to dinner tonight, okay? We can go early and maybe a glass of wine will help. If you're not tired yet, we can work on the blog when we get back and maybe then you'll be able to get to sleep. What do you think?"

"I can't -- I can't tonight. Maybe we can get lunch?" he offered.

"Why? What are you doing tonight?" Sherlock asked.

"I have plans," he said vaguely. "I'll be going out."

"But --" Sherlock started and then all of a sudden realised what John was talking about. "But I'd like to help," he said, trying to act naturally. "I can go out and get us lunch if you want. Or a film or tablets or whatever. I'd like to help is all I'm saying."

"I know, Sherlock. But it's fine. I'm sure it's just a phase or something," John said. "We can go out for lunch, I don't mind."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "I'll get dressed in a bit." He glanced over at the clock. "Should we go around one?"

"Yeah, that's perfect," John said.

Sherlock brought the tea over to John and smiled. He took his mug back to his desk and moved over to the desk. "We've had a few emails . . . might be client potential."  
  
John sipped his tea and closed his eyes again, leaning back in his chair comfortably. He thought about what would happen later. He would sleep so well after tonight.

Sherlock answered the emails and then got up to take a shower and get dressed. He felt kind of stupidly eager to be spending the day with John. They headed out for lunch at one.

"Angelo's or do you feel like something else? We can go wherever you want," Sherlock said as they got to the pavement.

"Angelo's is fine," John said. He put his hands into his pockets, stifling a yawn.

Sherlock reached over and touched John's arm. "If you're too tired or you think you can sleep, you can go back -- I'll pick up the food and bring it in, if you'd rather," he said.

John shook his head. "I'm okay," he smiled. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, John," Sherlock said. "I'm just trying to help."

They arrived at Angelo's and sat at their usual table, ordering their usual food. They talked about the possible clients and John's work, but mostly Sherlock was trying to watch John, paying probably abnormally close attention to anything he might have overlooked this week. They took a cab back to the flat afterwards.

John started for the stairs. "I have to shower," he told Sherlock.

"Okay," Sherlock said. He waited until John disappeared and then went into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He pulled out his bags and organised his things. Then he put on his pajamas and went back out, making a cup of tea and moving over to the sofa.

John showered and went up to his room to change, assuming he was supposed to wear a tie again. He came back down and fussed his hair a bit as he checked the time. It was still a bit early to leave, so he sat at the kitchen table to wait.

"You look nice," Sherlock said, getting up off the sofa. He moved over to the desk and checked his email. "Nothing yet," he said aloud. He stretched his arms up and yawned a little. "I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," he said. "But I'm actually a bit tired. I'll get started on this case if something comes through -- otherwise I might have an early night so maybe you could be quiet when you come in?"

"I will," John promised, offering him a small smile. "I'll be going in a bit."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I think I'll have a bath. Give me a shout if you leave before I'm out." He got up and moved to turn on the bath, grabbing a book from his bedroom before disappearing into the bathroom.

John nodded as Sherlock went into the bathroom. He fingered the blindfold in his pocket. When it was quarter after six he shouted through the door that he was leaving and headed out.

Sherlock had already got out of the bath, dried off and shaved. As soon as he heard the flat door close, he slipped into his bedroom, got dressed, and grabbed the bag. He rushed over to the hotel, going in a side door just in case. He got up to the room at 6.50, getting things arranged and then sitting down in the dark, trying to catch his breath. He realised he was actually quite nervous this time.


	8. The Last Visit

John arrived a bit early and had one drink at the bar before heading up. Like always, he put on his blindfold and knocked on the door.

Sherlock opened the door. "Come in," he said, pulling John in. He pushed him back against the door. "You'll need to hand me your tie and then strip off all your clothes. Do it now, right here."

John took his tie off quickly, handed it over, and then started removing his clothes where he stood against the door.

Sherlock watched John through the dark. God, he really was handsome -- he'd looked good at the flat, but he looked even better here because of what was going to happen. Once John was nude, he pushed him back against the door, leaning in to roughly kiss his mouth. He pressed his clothed body against John's naked one, sliding a hand down to grip John's cock, holding it as he whispered, "Still mine." Then he stepped back. "You'll need to lie on the bed," he said guiding him through the dark. "On your stomach."

"Yes sir," John murmured, climbing into the bed and lying down.

Sherlock grabbed his crop and climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside John. He moved the crop slowly up and down John's body, occasionally slapping his arse and thighs. "I'm going to fuck you tonight," he said, letting the crop linger between John's legs.

"Yes . . . please," John moaned out between the hits, the tension in his body rising steadily.

Sherlock dropped the crop and quickly straddled John's legs. He leaned over and nuzzled the back of John's neck before he sat back. He began to softly stroke up and down John's back before increasing the pressure, massaging his muscles.

John tried not to squirm. It felt good, relaxing.

Sherlock dropped his head and put a few kisses on John's shoulder and traced his tongue along some of the curves of the muscles. He moved his mouth to the places he'd bit each time. The marks were gone and he bit again, this time more gently, sucking the skin between his teeth. "This is mine, too," he whispered, pushing himself up and massaging lower down John's back until he was gripping the muscles of his arse. 

John nodded against the bed, pushing his hips against the man.

Sherlock shifted a little. "Separate your legs," he commanded, pulling them apart. "Lift up." He reached for his bag, pulling it up on the bed beside him. He got out a bottle of lube and poured some into his hand, sliding it between John's arse cheeks to slick the area. Then he reached round and began stroking his hard cock. "If it feels good, you should probably tell me," Sherlock said.

"It does . . . it feels so good," John moaned softly. "Please don't stop."

Sherlock kept stroking John's cock, but let his hips begin to rock against John's backside. He was hard as well, aching really -- wondering if he'd really be able to go through with it. It'd been so long since he'd had sex, but that wasn't worrying him. All of this was confusing his head, and he wasn't quite sure how his body would react. "Tell me again," he moaned in a low voice.

"It's good," John moaned immediately. "It's so good . . . please don't stop."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I'm going to stop," he said and immediately let go of John. "Lie flat now and breathe." He shifted himself so he was sitting next to John's legs. He pressed his hand over his own cock through his trousers and took a few breaths.

John panted softly into the pillow. "Please," he sighed.

"Shh," Sherlock said, resting a hand on John's back lightly. "Don't think . . . just listen and breathe." He was quiet for a moment. "Let's pretend," he said. "You never have to leave this room . . . you can stay here with me and I'll look after you. You won't have to think or decide or worry. . . I'll make all the decisions and you'll only feel good and you'll always be able to sleep." His hand stroked John's back. "Would you like that? Admit it, you like this . . . you'd like to stay, wouldn't you?"

John closed his eyes under the blindfold and nodded. "I would . . . it's almost perfect," he murmured.

"It is," Sherlock whispered. His hand moved up John's back and tangled in his hair. He pulled lightly. "And each night I'll fuck you . . . it'll feel so good, you won't be able to move . . . you'll melt into the bed and sleep like a baby." He pulled John's hair a little harder. He reached down and started stroking John again.

"God," John moaned, lifting his hips lightly.

"That's what's going to happen to you now," Sherlock said, moving down between John's legs again. "All fours," he ordered as he began to take off his own clothes.

"Yes, sir," John moaned longingly, shifting to get up onto his hands and knees.

Sherlock stroked himself a few times, letting out a soft moan. He reached for the lube, dribbling it over John, then slowly pushed two fingers inside. "Noises," he ordered as he began to pump his fingers.

John moaned softly, pushing his hips back slightly in time with the movement.

"God," Sherlock exhaled, pressing his hips against John. He kept moving his fingers until he thought he couldn't take anymore He pulled his fingers out and reached for a condom. "Say you're mine," he said, pressing the tip of his cock against John's hole. "Say it," he moaned, reaching around to hold John's cock. 

"I'm yours," John moaned. "I'm all yours, please . . ." He pushed back a bit desperately, the heat coiling in his belly.

Sherlock pushed himself in, stroking John's cock. He sunk deep inside, staying still for a second and then beginning to rock his hips. He closed his eyes and let pleasure fill his body.

John shuddered lightly as he was filled, revelling in the burn of being stretched open. This was what he needed.

Sherlock leaned over and bit John's shoulder and then covered the mark with kisses. He kept stroking and thrusting. It felt good -- better than he remembered it ever feeling. In fact, he was afraid he was going to explode. He let go of John's cock and straightened up. He pulled out and held himself, saying, "Turn over now and put your hands over your head."

John whimpered as he turned, lifting his arms over his head and pulling his legs back. 

Sherlock pushed John's legs wide apart, lining himself up and pushing inside again. He held John's cock as he rocked hard against him. He leaned over and sucked on one of John's nipples as he reached his other hand to John's hair. Suddenly Sherlock's whole body was hot, and he could feel that his back was damp with sweat. He tried to calm his breath, pressing his face against John's chest, but the pleasure was almost too much as his hips and hand moved out of his own control. "God, John . . ." he moaned. 

John's eyes opened behind the blindfold. He had never mentioned his name to this man, and his voice -- his voice was so clear. He lowered his hand and dragged it over his face, tugging the blindfold away. And there was Sherlock, his bright eyes lidded in pleasure, his curls stuck to his forehead, and his panting breath that had just moaned John's name. Sherlock's eyes met John's, and then John saw nothing because he was squeezing his eyes shut and coming between them, moaning loudly, moaning Sherlock's name.

Sherlock saw John see him, but then it felt like time stopped and John was coming and Sherlock cried out and came as well. Even if he'd known what to say, it wouldn't have matter -- he couldn't have found the words anyway. He dropped his head to John's chest, panting as his whole body melted into John's.

John lay beneath Sherlock, panting heavily as he tried to process what was happening through the haze of his orgasm. How could this be? He pulled all of his strength to push Sherlock off, easing away from him. "I don't . . . has it been you the whole time?" he asked, his voice quiet, his tone very purposely calm.

Sherlock pushed his face into the pillow -- not turning away but afraid to meet John's eyes. "The ad . . . was from long before we met, it was for a case . . . I don't know why I agreed at first . . . I just . . . I don't know and then I . . . I really did want to help you." He swallowed. "And I liked it . . . I liked sharing that with you . . . even though you didn't know it was me . . . I'm sorry. . . I wanted to help but . . . I'm sorry. . ."

John tugged at the covers. Sherlock had placed the ad for a case. How was it that John happened on that one? And . . . did Sherlock say he liked it? John looked over at him. "You do this sort of thing? I mean, you have before?"

"A long time ago . . . at uni," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

John closed his eyes to try to process it. He couldn't be angry -- he had lied as well. Not like this but still. This proved Sherlock would have helped. He just admitted he did it because he wanted to. "I...I have too. It's not the first time it's helped me with my sleep," he admitted.

"I know . . . I understand why you didn't ask but I'd do anything for you . . . I know that now obviously," Sherlock said, his voice barely a whisper. He turned on his side away from John. "You can still stay the night here . . . I still want you to be able to sleep . . ."

John reached out and touched his shoulder. "I should have known you would help. I'm sorry I lied," he said. He shifted to lay down. "Will you . . ." John felt his cheeks burn lightly. "Will you hold me?"

Sherlock rolled over and curled around John, wrapping his arm around him and pulling him close to his chest. "I liked what we did," he whispered and put a small kiss on John's head. "I like this as well."

John was tired and sore, but he felt comforted. "I liked what we did too," John murmured. He closed his eyes, pressed into Sherlock’s chest. "And this." 

"We could both sleep here, I guess, if that'd be all right with you," Sherlock mumbled tentatively. He pressed another kiss against John's temple.

"Yes of course," John said, shifting to press against him. "Don't let go." He thought about everything they had done, everything Sherlock had seen, and he felt a bit vulnerable. Cuddling like this was helping.

Sherlock lay quietly for a few moments. Then he shifted and looked into John's eyes. "Since we met, I've let you in to parts of my life that I've not let anyone see for a long time," he whispered. "I know you didn't mean to let me into this part of your life, but I'm here now, John." He swallowed. "You can trust me if you let me stay."

John reached up and touched Sherlock's cheek, smiling softly. "I'm a bit relieved it was you all along," he admitted. Not that he had known any differently, and of course he would have been fine with a stranger, but that was when he believed Sherlock couldn't do this. "You're the one I want to share this with."

Sherlock smiled and gave John a little kiss. He snuggled against John. "Do we have to keep coming to hotels, though?" he said, smiling. "It's getting a bit expensive."

"No!" John laughed. "Why didn't you ever take my money? You just ran out of here!"

"You need to save your money," Sherlock said. "To buy me presents or whatever." He pushed John's arm. "Stop talking now so we can sleep."  
  
"I will be able to sleep," John said. "Thanks to you."

"And thanks to you," Sherlock said. "For being everything to me."


End file.
